All Within My Hands
by T'eyla
Summary: Love is control.


**Title**: All Within My Hands

**Author**: T'eyla

**Genre**: Angst

**Rating**: PG

**Warnings**: Slash (Tucker/Reed), Songfic

**Beta**: Sita Z (thank you:) )

**Disclaimer**: Star Trek belongs to Paramount. The lyrics of "All Within My Hands" belong to whoever James Hetfield sold the copyright to.

* * *

The display in front of me flashes, warning me of something I anticipated even before the sensors picked up on it. 

"They are targeting the engine, sir." My tone is very professional, not betraying any feelings. Archer turns around.

"Enforce hull plating in that area. Don't fire unless you absolutely have to. One shot from the phase cannons would rip them to pieces."

I do as he says. The image of the small vessel on the main screen being blown apart by a blast from the aft phase cannon flashes through my mind. Then another one, of Enterprise' engine room, bathed in the unsteady red glow of flickering flames, consoles spurting sparks and explosions cascading towards the engine. Burned bodies, injured, dead.

The ship rocks as she is hit by another shot. T'Pol's voice floats through the howling of emergency klaxons.

"Hull plating's failing in section twenty-three to twenty-nine. The next shot will destroy the hull in that area."

"They're charging weapons." I see the targeted areas highlighted on the blueprint of Enterprise in front of me. D-deck, section twenty-three to twenty-nine. Engineering. My fingers begin moving seemingly on their own. "Firing aft cannon."

The ship bucks, and from the corner of my eyes I see a bright ball of light spread on the main screen. I keep my eyes fixed on my console, where the small white dot of the enemy ship has disappeared, and curl my fingers around the edge of the panel when the shockwave of the explosion rocks Enterprise.

_All within my hands_  
_Squeeze it in, crush it down_  
_All within my hands_  
_Hold it dear, hold it, suffocate_

My boy stands in front of me, and I just don't know what to do with him anymore. Just the way he's looking at me, cowering, with scared, wide eyes, makes me want to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he stands up straight and faces me like a son should face his father. Instead, I clasp my hands behind my back and look down at him.

"Malcolm," I say, "your teacher has brought to my attention that you are having trouble with some of your classmates."

He doesn't answer, doesn't react at all, just keeps looking at me like that, and it fuels my anger. How many times have I told him that he is not going to earn any respect from other people if he shows them he's afraid? I frown, and my tone is harsh when I speak.

"Malcolm? Do you have to say anything about that?"

He shakes his head, timidly, and I see moisture in his eyes. "No, sir," he says in a small voice.

I find it hard to keep my anger under control. I have told him times and again that by cowering, all a person is ever going to accomplish is becoming second-best. I don't want my son to be second-best. I reach out and grab him by the shoulders, make him stand up straight.

"Don't you lie to me," I say. "Your teacher told me you have been getting into fights. Do you have anything to say about that?"

He sucks in his lower lip, a disgusting habit that I will have to break him of, and his voice trembles when he answers. "I don't do it on purpose, sir."

"Don't try and weasel out of your responsibility!" I grab his shoulder again, and shake him a little to make him look at me. "Have you been getting into fights, Malcolm?"

He stares at me, and then the moisture in his eyes spills over and tears start rolling down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, sir," he says. "I'm sorry."

At times like this, I wonder whether this is really my son, and if it is, what I have done to deserve him. I love him, of course I do, and that is what makes this so hard. I see his many weaknesses, and no matter what I do, I cannot seem to cure him of them. I grip his shoulder a little harder, and he lets out a whimper.

"Answer my question. Have you been getting into fights, Malcolm?"

He begins to nod, his head bopping up and down as if on a string. "Yes," he says. "I am sorry, sir."

I let go of him. "So," I say. "You have been getting into fights. What do you suggest we do about that?"

_All within my hands_  
_Love to death, smack you 'round and 'round and_  
_All within my hands_  
_Beware_

"Can I join ya?"

I look up from my padd, even though I don't have to to know who's asking. I'd recognize this voice anywhere. Even in a crowded bar on Key West.

"Of course, Commander." I indicate one of the free chairs, and Trip puts his tray down on the table, plopping down onto the chair. He starts eating, and I cannot help but watch him for a moment, amazed at how a person can put so much enthusiasm into the simple task of eating dinner.

He looks up, and I lower my eyes, but not before I catch the big open smile on his face. "Comin' to the party t'night, Mal?"

I look at him, pretending to consider, then shake my head. "No, I don't think so. I have a lot of work to do."

His face falls, and a distant part of me feels like a complete arsehole for lying to him. I'm used to ignoring this part of me, though. "Aw, Mal, that can wait. It's Anna's birthday!"

I smile, putting a both polite and fake apology in the expression. "I really don't have time, I'm sorry. But please, forward my best wishes to Lieutenant Hess when you see her tonight."

He looks at me, his expression dissappointed. I guess he knows that he won't be able to persuade me. I have to give him credit for trying, anyway. "Please, Mal? Ya wouldn't have ta stay long."

I only shake my head, the smile still on my face, then return my attention to the padd. I hear him sigh. "Well, guess I'll have to save some o' the cake fer ya, then."

I don't answer.

_Love is control_  
_I'll die if I let go_  
_Love is control_  
_I'll die if I let go_

_Hate me now_  
_Kill all within my hands_

I can't change my feelings. I've tried, I really have. It doesn't work. Maybe I didn't try it the right way, or maybe it's just something I am not capable of.

_Hate me now_  
_Crush all within my hands_

I can't change them, but I can ignore them. I've done it for most of my life, and really, it works quite well. It makes many things so much less complicated. Sometimes, it even makes life easy.

_Squeeze all within my hands_  
_Choke all within my hands_

Sometimes, though, it's really hard. But you can't have the good without the bad. That's something I need to remember.

_Hate me now_  
_Trap all within my hands_

Even if there are times that I wish things were different, I just need to remember that there are ways to keep times like that from occurring too often.

_Hurry up and hate me now_  
_Kill all within my hands, again_

----------------_  
_

"Malcolm." I can't remember how many times my son has stood there in front of me. Over the years, his demeanor has changed from open fear to defiance to the inexpressiveness the teenage boy who is staring back at me now is wearing. It seems that my efforts have not been completely wasted. The slight success might not make a difference, though. I'm afraid I might have to face the reality of my son being one of my failures.

I pick up the magazine I have found in his room, and hold it before his face. "What's this?"

I watch his face, and underneath the stoicism, I can see a flicker of surprise. I know he wonders how I managed to find it. I almost hadn't, which makes me feel at least a little proud of my son.

He doesn't answer, and I slap the magazine across his face. "Answer me, boy!"

He flinches, but says nothing. Well, at least he has developed some backbone over the years. I put the magazine down on the table.

"What were you thinking, keeping something like that in your room?" I ask him. "Have you got no self-respect at all? What if your sister had found it?"

"She wouldn't have," he says, a little to quickly, and his defense walls crumble. I'm not surprised to see it, but it's not as if it doesn't make me sad. I grab the front of his shirt, and he shuts his mouth, pressing his lips together.

"She might have," I say. "What do you think would she have made of it?"

There's no answer, but I can see his fear, and it disgusts me. I push him away. "This will bear consequences," I say. He's not looking at me anymore. "Go to your room. I will call you."

_All within my hands_  
_Take your fear, pump me up_  
_All within my hands_  
_Let you run, then I pull your leash_  
_All within my hands_

"I did not order you to fire that shot, Malcolm." The Captain is looking at me over the situation room's main console, and I find myself having a hard time not to lower my eyes under his stare.

"No, sir," I answer. "You didn't."

"Then why did you fire?"

I take a - very brief - moment before answering. "In the situation I felt that I would put Enterprise in danger of extensive damage if I did not fire on the enemy vessel."

"It wasn't an enemy vessel!" The Captain sounds upset, something I can't blame him for. "It was a cargo ship! The crew were being controlled by an alien life form, they didn't know what they were doing!"

"That might be true, Captain, but if we had continued not firing, Enterprise would have been destroyed after no more than two or three additional shots." I keep up the stoic demeanor, but I can sympathize with Archer's agitation. The thought of that crew that I killed, eight people that were in no way responsible for their actions, triggers feelings in me that I have to keep a close tap on.

"Captain." That's T'Pol. "Mr. Reed is right. If Enterprise had sustained further hits, the damage would be much more extensive than it is now." Archer looks at her, and his expression openly shows how unhappy he is with all of this. "They weren't answering our hails," T'Pol continues. "Lieutenant Reed did have no choice but to fire on them."

The Captain sighs, then looks up at Lieutenant Hess who is standing near by, looking a little ragged. "How much time do you need for repairs?"

"Ten hours," she says. "A little longer, maybe, with Tr- with Commander Tucker being in sickbay."

I can see hurt flit across Archer's face, but I don't think anybody else noticed. I press my lips together and try to push aside the images that my mind is showing me. Trip, being thrown across the Engine Room when the shockwave hit Enterprise. Smashing into the wall. Blood pooling around his still form as he lies crumpled on the floor. _Condition: critical_. The words beside Trip's name on the casualty report from sickbay.

"Alright." Archer looks at every one of us, trying to communicate reassurance. With me, he doesn't really manage. "Malcolm, I want a detailed report, asap. Anna, while Commander Tucker is incapacitated, you're in charge of the repairs. If your team needs any help, I can assign some of the Armory team." He pauses. "Get to work."

"Aye, sir," Hess and I reply in unison.

_All within my hands_  
_Under thumb, under to myself_  
_All within my hands_  
_Beware_

I wish I had told him I would come to the party. It wouldn't have made a difference, because there is going to be no party, not with Enterprise shaken up like this and Trip in sickbay, his life hanging on a thin thread.

It would have made him happy, though, if I had told him I'd come. This morning in the mess hall might have been the last time I've talked to him.

The thing is, I don't know if I had told him I'd come to the party even if I had known what was going to happen.

_Love is control_  
_I'll die if I let go_  
_Love is control_  
_I'll die if I let go_  
_Let it go_

_Hate me now_  
_Kill all within my hands_

Does that make me a terrible person?

_Hate me now_  
_Crush all within my hands_

I guess it does.

_Squeeze all within my hands_  
_Choke within my hands_

What is it with me that I cannot make people happy?

_Hate me now_  
_Trap all within my hands_

I guess it's no big surprise. I can't even make myself happy.

_Hate me now_  
_Kill all within my hands, again_

"You know why I'm doing this, Malcolm." I look at my son, and I don't like what I'm seeing. He's not the coward that I feared he would become, and he is not the sly, false person that I thought he'll turn out to be. He's not the man that I wanted him to be, either.

I realize that I don't know what kind of person my son has become. I have no idea. He's a stranger. And I am not sure I like this stranger.

"No, Father, frankly, I do not."

"I want what's best for you," I say, but I can see that he doesn't understand. I try to explain. "I will not sign your application for Starfleet Academy. You are my son. Your place is in the Royal Navy."

His face becomes tight, his lips as thin as two lines drawn by a sharp pencil. "In no more than two months, I will come of age," he says. "I will not join the Royal Navy, Father. You can accept that now, or in two months. Whenever you choose."

I feel myself becoming angry. "I will not accept anything. You are my son, and I have brought you up to become a Reed. If you choose not to become one, then you choose not to be my son. It's your decision, Malcolm."

He is silent, then only gives a curt nod and leaves the room without another word, taking the unsigned application sheet with him.

I look after him and think that maybe, this is for the best.

_I'll die if I let go_  
_Control is love, love is control_  
_I'll fall if I let go_  
_Control is love, love is control_

I'm in my office in the Armory, but somehow, the place does not provide calm as it usually does. I feel like becoming violent, throwing things against the wall and shouting at people. That's why I'm hiding down here instead of writing my report on the bridge as I usually do.

I find the way that I am losing control very frightening. Control over my feelings, my surroundings. Something inside me is screaming at me, asking me what the hell I'm doing here when he's in sickbay, hurt, maybe dying. Probably dying.

_I will only let you breathe_  
_My air that you receive_  
_Then we'll see if I let you love me_

I cannot concentrate. Captain Archer wants this report as fast as he can get it, and it's important that I account the events to the best of my knowledge. I have destroyed a civilian ship without direct order. My career is on stake here. But still, I cannot concentrate. My thoughts keep returning to that image my imagination brought up, of Trip lying in a pool of blood on the floor. Thinking of that feels as if my heart is being ripped out. It shouldn't, but it does.

_Condition: critical. Life-threatening injuries. Phlox' voice over the comm: I cannot tell you anything just yet, Captain._

I'm sitting here; my hands are clenched around the padd that I'm supposed to be writing the report on, and despite the fact that I promised myself long ago that I would never let that happen, my thoughts are solely occupied with worry about one single person.

_I will only let you breathe_  
_My air that you receive_  
_Then we'll see if I let you love me_

"Lieutenant!"

I jump and turn around. "What?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just thought you'd want to know... Commander Tucker is out of surgery, and the doc says he'll pull through!"

Ensign Meyers looks at me, and I can see the relief on his young, open face. After a moment, I answer. "That's good to hear. Thank you, ensign."

Meyers smiles and gives me a nod, then hurries back into the Armory's main room, probably to share his good news with the rest of the team.

I turn back to the desk. I concentrate on my breathing; it feels as if my throat is too tight to let any air pass through to my lungs. It takes some time until I feel like I can move again.

_Love is control_

----------------

There he is again. Barely out of sickbay, and already he's back here amongst the crew, laughing and joking.

"Hey, Mal!"

_Hate me now_  
_Kill all within my hands_

He waves at me to join him at the table where he's sitting, and I cross the mess hall to sit across from him.

"Commander. Good to see you up and about."

He smiles. "It's good ta be outta sickbay. The bat was drivin' me nuts."

I give a small smile and take a sip of my tea. I know I should be leaving, I have things to do in the Armory.

_Hate me now_  
_Crush all within my hands again_

"Haven't seen you a lot these past coupla weeks," Trip says. "Ya never came to visit me."

He gives his statement a tone of mock accusation, but it doesn't quite mask the slight hurt in his voice. I pretend not to have noticed.

_Choke all within my hands_  
_Squeeze all within my hands_

"I had a lot of work to do. We were updating the torpedo launching software, and with half of my team helping out in Engineering, that meant some overtime for me." I try to give my words a teasing tone, and his expression tells me that he didn't take them as an accusation. There's something else in his eyes, though, and I realize that it's probably a good idea to leave now.

_Hate me now_  
_Trap all within my hands_

I drink up the rest of my tea; then I get up. "If you would excuse me, Commander," I say. "Duty's calling."

Trip seems as if he's about to say something, but then he only nods. "Okay."

_Hurry up and hate me now_

Our eyes meet for a short moment, and he's looking at me, his expression asking me what he is too polite to ask himself.

_What do you want, Malcolm? What do you want?_

_Nothing. _I lower my eyes and walk away. _Nothing, Trip._

_Kill all within my hands again_


End file.
